


No Salt From Sand

by ThornsOfWinter (SeedsOfWinter)



Series: A Small Demons AU [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Asexuality Spectrum, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Demiromantic, Drinking & Talking, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Macro/Micro, No Betas We Fall Like Crowley, Scene: Crucifixion of Jesus 33 AD (Good Omens), Size Difference, They're on their own side, They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29178492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeedsOfWinter/pseuds/ThornsOfWinter
Summary: In a universe where demons are quite tiny, adorable even, they can still have big opinions.When Aziraphale and Crowley unexpectedly find each other in 1st-century Palestine, there’s nothing either can do to stop the Great Plan… But plenty can change between an ethereal and an occult being when no one is looking.[Can be read as a stand-alone]
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A Small Demons AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792909
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	No Salt From Sand

Death is patient. Death is kind. Death never fails. He makes no attempt to speed along your end; all mortal beings walk the sands with him, hand in hand, given time and opportunity. This he has known since the Almighty thought him into existence, long before he had a use.

The Angel of Death arrived on Earth shortly after the humans left the Garden. Aziraphale had been there, too. Distracted as the principality was by a tiny, bold creature commiserating beside him, he only _heard_ the first death—lowercase—ushered in by his freshly-gifted sword. Instead Aziraphale saw Death’s work in post: the lion crumpled, blade-blown to the ground and bleeding, life leaving him as Adam took Eve by the hand and fled.

With Eden sealed away from Time, Aziraphale saw quite a lot of Death’s work over the years. Every living mortal being Aziraphale had ever known met their end. Death lingered near each of them, never straying far, hovering like a teenager with a crush, hopeful, waiting to say hello.

Sometimes Aziraphale could put off introductions. He’d sense an appropriateness to small blessings, unobtrusive healing. Nothing flashy nor distracting. Others, he knew were unequivocal interruptions.

More than anyone in over four thousand years, the man struggling upon the road to Calvary shone untouchably as the latter.

“There must be _something_ you can do,” hissed a little voice, plaintive.

“Is anybody looking?”

To know the answer, Aziraphale’s companion didn’t need to peer over the edge of the blanket he had them bundled in. As the angel had learned over the years together was their way, they shut their golden eyes and concentrated, expanding their awareness and demonic senses.

“Fft,” Crowley puffed. “ _Every_ one’s looking.”

“My point exactly.”

Like a grumpy toddler who’d been told to ask their other parent for permission only to meet the same refusal, the demon shuffled moodily around in the blanket until they faced away from Aziraphale.

“And it’s not merely the humans, is it?”

Crowley huffed and kicked until Aziraphale adjusted his arms to grip more loosely. “No. It’s not just the _humans_ ,” they relented, disappointed to be discussing the matter further. They added lightly, “Whole bloody existence seems tuned into the Children’s Hour at Golgotha.”

The whole affair turned Aziraphale’s stomach. His superiors had assured him it was all above-board but, shockingly, that hadn’t assuaged his concerns.

He’d found Crowley in the city while a trial progressed to its unfortunate conclusion. The demon had been quite literally hanging around a temple market. With stolen figs clutched preciously in the black linen folds of their miniature abaya, they swayed in the tapestries above the stalls and munched on their pilfered delights until Aziraphale attempted to coax them down like a lost bird. That’s when he’d learned about the name change: calling the demon _Crawley_ had earned him a hard chunk of barley bread tossed into his hair and a hissed, “I’ve changed it. My name. _Crawley_ was a bit too… Squirming about at your feetish.”

Aziraphale had poked at the aptness of the previous moniker for a serpent but, with barely more than a decade passed since they’d enjoyed each other’s company, he knew better than to harp. He’d quickly followed up his ribbing by asking what he should call them instead.

A pair of luminous eyes had peered over the edge of the woven tapestry then, scrutinizing the angel as they stated firmly, “Crowley.”

And so Crowley they would be.

When Aziraphale suggested they would need a healthy bowl of _garum_ if they intended to make an edible meal of the bread, that caught his friend’s attention. Upon further hinting that if the two of them wandered the city together they might procure delicacies more befitting a reunion celebration, Crowley had made a spectacle of climbing down from their roost, complaining that it was their best spying spot yet, that it had taken them days to scope it out and steal it from the local pigeons. Yes, yes, Aziraphale knew: he had thwarted the devil’s minion quite expertly and now they were absolutely put out that he would take them away from their demonic duties. Job well done.

There was always a strange mix of sensations for Aziraphale at finding Crowley unexpectedly. On the one hand, it was his absolute pleasure to spend time with them. The two had scarcely been separated since the Flood if they could help it, but they each still had roles which occupied most of their time. Which led to the other hand. Encountering each other there in Jerusalem, outside of an arranged meeting, meant big projects were possibly in the works around them.

So, an angel and a demon worked together once more. They had learned what their respective sides were onto, their own roles or lack thereof within, and went to witness.

From inside their baby bundling, Crowley drawled, “Right. Let’s make an appearance, have you be seen smirking at the poor bugger, and get out of here.”

“Smirk? Me?” Aziraphale shifted the edge of his shayla, nervous at the implication.

“Or whatever it is you’re here for. I don’t know. Seems morbid after your lot put him on there.”

“I’m not consulted on policy decisions, Crawley.”

“Crowley,” the demon corrected with another series of disgruntled kicks and shifts about in the blanket, as though hearing the name set their skin itching.

“Crowley,” he amended the slip of his tongue without excuse. The demon settled almost instantly. “Did you, uh, did you ever meet him?”

“ _Yes._ Seemed a very bright young man. I showed him all the kingdoms of the world.”

A soft gasp fell from Aziraphale’s lips. He couldn’t begin to account for how much that must have taken out of them, using so much power.

“Why would you do that?”

Crowley shrugged. “He’s a carpenter from Galilee. Travel opportunities are limited.” They scanned the crowd, and Aziraphale felt the hum of restlessness from them. “W-what was it he said that got everyone all riled up? Do you know?”

Aziraphale’s stomach lurched. He stared into the middle space, as he recalled the answer. “Be _kind_ to each other.”

Crowley huffed. “Of course. That’ll do it.”

There had been very little kindness in either of their lives, but less so for his companion.

A hammer blow landed. Aziraphale and Crowley winced.

He knew he could not step onstage to scream in the middle of that young teacher’s soliloquy. Not without risking removal and being barred from the theater. When all the world was a stage, any interference needed to remain safely in the realm of backstage whispers. A considerable task for a theater in the round and all eyes centerstage.

The young man lashed to the crossbeam uttered a prayer to the Almighty. Asking that his persecutors might find divine forgiveness. Mercy. Another benevolent act denied to Crowley and the Fallen, those fated then to roam the earth for eternity and spread all manner of mischief and doubt.

“I can’t do this,” Crowley choked, clearly having similar thoughts. An anxious sob lingered up the back of their throat. “Aziraphale, please, I can’t. I don’t want to get us in trouble. I have to go. Please.”

“We’ll both, then.”

“No, no, you’ve business. S-set me down. I can- No one will notice a snake. Never do.”

Aziraphale shut his eyes at the pain in that small voice. Under the jealous eye of that springsun morning, he wanted only to shower Crowley with every kindness they might accept. He could offer no reprieve for the dark blood which ran down the tortured man’s hands but, where someone most beloved to the Almighty was out of the reach of the angel, he could instead bring solace to one She had turned away.

Selfishly, too, he didn’t want to be alone at the finale when Death took his bow.

“We’re leaving together.” His voice wavered with the decision though his heart did not.

He held tight to Crowley in their disguise and marched away from the scene, shushing the demon every time they tried to argue during the first several minutes. His brisk pace had them through the arching Garden Gate of the upper city shortly after that.

He’d been staying in the western quarter of town, where a family living just off the tall-pillared Cardo accepted him into their home, exchanging a few evenings filled with traveller’s tales for his use of a guest chamber. He blessed them for their warm reception, even if custom said hospitality was its own reward. Aside from a woven mat and curtains over the windows, the upper room was simple and to Aziraphale’s needs. In one corner, a table and a backless chair; in the other, a bed roll and an oil lamp. A pot of wash water sat by the door where he and Crowley left their sandals.

He removed the light linen shayla from around his hair, only then considering that the family’s servant could have seen him walking through the inner courtyard in women’s clothes carrying a bundled ‘infant’. Aziraphale collapsed onto the bed, deciding it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to lie but would claim a briefly visiting sister if pressed. Not for the first time, he rued the inconvenience and harassment associated with travelling alone appearing as anything other than a man-shaped being.

Weary as well, Crowley joined him on the bed roll, flopping forward dramatically, their wings and limbs akimbo. Muffled by the mattress, they asked, “What d’you want to do now?”

“Alcohol,” Aziraphale answered readily.

The demon cackled and rolled to their side. “Brilliant.”

A miracle later, a painted amphora manifested on the floor and two more on the table. Aziraphale assured, “No one will miss them.”

“Really not my concern at the mo’.” Crowley sat up and dragged their power through their fingers across the floor for a pair of cups, appropriately sized to each of them, while Aziraphale removed the clay stopper from the nearest wine.

“I’m glad for your company. I do not think I would have weathered this properly alone in the city.” Left to his own devices, Aziraphale would have watched to the end and beyond, helpless. Lingering too long, searching for a sign all was as it should be. _Thy will be done._ He poured the wine into Crowley’s cup first. The amber-colored liquid overflowed with a splash. “You’re the only friend I want around for all this.”

“Sure I’m not your _only_ friend?”

“I have friends!”

Crowley snickered playfully. “Humans don’t count.”

“Of course they do. Who else am I to spend time with when you’re gone?” Aziraphale lifted his cup to Crowley. “Cheers.”

“To the Great blasted Plan,” they said and both drank to that.

The sharp wine tasted of apples and lingered velvety on the tongue. Aziraphale sighed, pleased with his choice. He rested against the wall and stretched his legs across the mattress. His bare feet hung over the edge, touching the floor.

At his side, Crowley hummed their approval before speaking. “What about that other angel bloke? Ehh, really tall fellow. Saw him down here a couple decades ago.” They snapped their fingers a few times, trying to recall a name. “Talked to the boy’s mum, didn’t he?”

Aziraphale’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head. “Please. _Gabriel?_ Honestly. The entire time Miriam was pregnant, the Archangel cared only to hover nearby in case she needed anything. You’d have thought _he_ was the father. Anyway, I tried inviting him to lunch once. Know what he said?”

“Whassat?”

“He said he didn’t see the appeal of watching the human digestive process at work.”

“Mm, maybe he’d’ve been more interested in the big finish at the other end.”

Aziraphale gave a short bark of a laugh, then chided, “Oh, he’s harmless. But completely missed the point, as you can imagine. Certainly _not_ friend material.”

“Well, glad there’s no one to compete with. Sounds like I can slack off in my duties.”

Aziraphale shot them a look. “I’m sure you’ll get right to that.”

The demon turned away from the joke to gaze thoughtfully into their wine. They swirled the liquid in the cup with a few idle shakes as their jaw worked around unspoken words.

Crowley settled, unsurprisingly, on a question. “How d’you think all this is coming down for him? That archangel?”

“I don’t think he cares for humans in general,” Aziraphale said, choosing his words with equal caution. “But he did care for the mother in specific. I’m not certain that extended to her child. Or if so, were it out of anything more than heavenly duty. I didn’t see him there. He wasn’t obvious if he was. At the, um, execution. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“Only a bit. Just figuring an archangel has more sway with Upstairs than a principality.”

Aziraphale caught their meaning plainly. He needed another drink.

It was somewhere around the bottom half of the amphora that Crowley asked, “What would you do now?”

“Hmm?”

“With all this ‘nobody looking’? We don’t know how long we got. Could be who knows how long. Till that young man dies? I mean, what are their plans for after, really? Whole point seems lost.”

Aziraphale drained his cup and poured himself another. He gestured to the jug and, when Crowley nodded their assent, topped them off with a still steady hand. Then he said, “I’m not sure exactly what but word is that there’s a miracle ahead. Nothing to do with me, of course. Above my clearance.”

Crowley made a noise of understanding.

“But the universe’s _averted gaze_ may last until then. As for what I’d do with this time, however long there is of it… I hadn’t thought beyond seeing exactly how much wine this body can ingest before it objects. What about yourself?”

The little demon stared into their drink. “I would… Tell you… Some things. That I haven’t before.”

Aziraphale perked up. “Yes?”

Crowley breathed deeply, their chest swelling. “Yeah. I’m… I’m sorry,” they said, speaking swiftly, “about the apple business. You got the shite end on that one. Wasn’t your fault, y’know?”

Aziraphale chuckled. The wine must have been hitting his counterpart harder than he realised. Aziraphale tried counting how much he was behind.

“And that I’m sorry, too,” they continued, “for the way they all treat you Upstairs. You deserve better. You’re a wonderful angel. The bessst angel.”

“Crowley…”

“S’true! You try. I see you try. You’re working under all their burrow… Burrocro… _Paperwork_. And you still manage to do the right thing more often n’not. So… Anyway. I see you. Even if they don’t.”

Aziraphale’s lips quivered at the corners. He squeezed shut his eyes and blinked several times and steadied his breath. “Thank you. I- Thank you. I should admit I’ve been a bit of a coward all these years.”

“Not possible.” Crowley’s smile turned entirely too soft.

Aziraphale’s throat tightened. _What am I waiting for?_

He knew, of course, what held him back. More than what anyone else might think, Heaven _or_ Hell, he couldn’t stand to do anything that might scare off Crowley.

Still. There might never be another moment.

His heart thundered as he began, “You’ve been a good friend.”

Crowley’s smile faltered. “Uh. Well.”

“I… _value_ your friendship. Do you understand?”

“Getting the picture, yeah.” Crowley brushed the back of their hand along Aziraphale’s fingers where he held his cup, causing the larger being to shiver with the warmth of the gesture. “Means the world to hear you say it. You know, er, out loud. Like this.”

Aziraphale’s voice shook as he said, “But it’s more than that. Isn’t it?”

Crowley flinched. “Is it?”

Aziraphale set aside his wine to focus his attention on his companion. “Yes.”

“Y-yeah?” Crowley seemed about to bolt, their wings stiff, their arms tense across their chest.

“I don’t want to ruin this. You’re far too important to me. I don’t want to scare you with…” He searched for the right word and landed on, “The _weight_. Of my feelings for you.”

“F-f-feelings. For me. _You_ have…” The demon blanched. “You have feelings for me.”

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped. “No cause for alarm. I shan’t be making trouble for you in the future over it.”

Crowley nodded automatically.

“No one’s watching now, like you said, but they will be again. After all this nastiness is over. I’ve kept myself under wraps all these years and can do so again after today.”

Crowley wiped at tears with the back of their wrist.

“Oh! I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Crowley stumbled to their feet. “No. No, no. That’s not what this is. I…”

Aziraphale waited as the demon hesitated before them on the bed. He held his breath.

Then Crowley said, “I care about you. More. Than friends. I… I think.”

“You don’t have to,” Aziraphale assured. He went to calm his fingers over Crowley’s shoulder but stopped himself. It wasn’t his right.

“But I do! I-” Crowley glanced away, their cheeks flushing red. “ _I do_.”

“You do?”

“Just haven’t… Nngh.” The strangled sound caught in Crowley’s throat. “Felt like I could… Like it was safe to-”

“To think about it?”

“Yes!” Crowley flung themself at Aziraphale’s nearby hand, curling their body tightly against his fingers, their gray wings slackened. “Yes, angel, yes. I didn’t want- How could you- I mean, _I’m a demon!_ ”

“You are that,” Aziraphale said. He stroked the feathers near their spine, where they peaked through the slits at the back of their flowing garment. “And you are more than just that. Do you understand?”

Crowley sobbed against his hand. “S’just… It’s silly.”

“How?”

“For starters,” Crowley said as they turned up to face him, “just look at us! You’re, you know, human-sized. Meanwhile, I’ve lost fights to particularly cross ducks.”

“Have you?”

“Pfft. You were there.” The hint of amusement in Crowley’s voice lent Aziraphale faith. They rocked back on their heels and sat down on the mattress once more.

“Luckily I don’t believe I’ll need rescuing from hordes of ducks in the future. Crowley, dear,” he said and stroked the snaking red curls away from the demon’s brilliant gaze, “if all we have is this, this _knowing_ , then that’s more than I ever thought I’d have. I’ll be satisfied with it.”

“Dunno if I will be.” Crowley shrugged. “But not like I haven’t already spent a few thousand years wanting what I can’t have. What’s the rest of eternity?”

 _A few thousand years…_ Aziraphale thought a moment before remembering all those months together on the Ark. The long days and longer nights, waiting for the waters to recede, tending to the animals and to Aziraphale’s hidden clutch of children. Their evenings spent together, alone. Close. Close as they were now. Closer. By the end of it, he’d grown so used to the demon’s comfortable presence in his arms at night that it shocked Aziraphale to notice the emptiness when Crowley had to report back to Hell.

He’d thought it had only been him.

Aziraphale laughed, loud and long, startling his friend. “I’m sure someday we’ll have to pay for this love we stole.”

The serpent froze in place, as if moving might steal the moment and the memory. Then air found Crowley’s lungs and questions followed in torrents. Asking, “But what does it mean?” and “What _can_ it mean?” and “What can we _do_ about it?” and lamenting how scant their time was, how unknown the hours of their rendezvous.

“We could… Uh.” Aziraphale tried clearing his throat, the shape of his wants unfamiliar, choking, suffocating in their potentiality. He could not explain that searing tenderness. The parched edges of affection. Nor the more burning concerns—yes, concerns, not questions, there was a difference, he hoped (he prayed, to a distracted deity).

Was it fair for an angel to love a demon? Could either of them even feel it, keep it, share it? Aziraphale knew the sense of love: he had been coaxed into creation by its commanding word like all the others. Like Crowley had been, as all demons, before they were cut from the supply lines, flushed from the system and hatches sealed after them forevermore.

“We- we could…” Would he pass the full knowledge of his love like a poisoned plate, his divinity scouring infernal flesh? Holy things had a way of destroying, didn’t they? Whether in word or deed.

Or inaction.

But, Aziraphale reasoned, he was merely a channel for that holiest love. _Agape_ rushed to fill his veins, to move his feet, as he distantly shepherded the children of Eve. It was never his to taste. Not a sip, not a drop. Always onward and gladly given. To the mortals, the cherished ones. Those clever humans, cruel and selfish, generous and brave.

Then if there was nothing particularly holy, no, if it was but a meager love crafted in his own two hands, might that be safe enough? He had only himself to give.

Aziraphale set his lips, discovering the root of his hesitation. “What if it hurts you? I couldn’t bear it. I-I don’t think you’d be destroyed, perhaps temporarily discorporated, but that’s still too much-”

“Stop,” Crowley cut in, suddenly very sober. “Since you need to hear it: I won’t purposely do anything that’ll get me _inconvenienced_. ‘Specially not today. And, more’s the point: nothing you _say_ will hurt me. Now I can’t make a decision on _anything_ until you tell me what that big brain of yours has been overthinking. So out with it, yeah?”

Aziraphale lit up. Crowley knew him too well. He extended his hands for his friend’s, delicately taking them between his fingers, and stared into those pollen-dust eyes. He wanted to see and be seen as he said, low and soft, “I love you.”

Crowley’s lips took to trembling. They blinked. “You… You didn’t mean just the- Friendly sort of- Nngh, that’s...”

“Oh, that rather is.” Mercifully, there was no immediate bursting into flames, even if Aziraphale felt a bit light-headed. “Terrifying. I said it, though? And you’re fine? And I said it! And I do. I love you.”

“I… Angel, I…” Whatever the demon felt, Aziraphale could tell by the way they collapsed against his palm that it was a tidal rush, sweeping away every doubt and fear and hesitation they had left to hold onto. He could feel their heart fluttering.

He sat up from the wall and bent to kiss each of his dearest friend’s outstretched hands. “I wish I could conjure all the perfect words you deserve. No one told me I might ever say them. I-I don’t have them ready.”

“Ssstop.” Crowley blushed, dark and deep, the blood creeping up their cheeks and then dropping across their neck. “I mean, not that. No. You’re fine. Perfect. S- _Please_ , say it again?”

“Crowley, I love you.” It was his love. His own to give.

“Please.”

“Crowley. My dear one. I love you.”

The blush deepened as they tossed back their head and looked away. “Just a last time. I won’t ask anymore.”

“Crowley, _my darling_ , oh… I’ve loved you longer than I knew. I love you so much more than I can say. But I’ll say it.” He turned the little freckled face back to him, resisting the temptation to scoop the demon up into his arms. “You only asked for one last time, but I don’t think I can stop now that I’ve started. I love you.”

A tiny trill of laughter, overwhelmed and light. Aziraphale could grow drunk on that sound. He could have soaked in the sweetness of it.

So he said the words again, reveling in the taste they left on his tongue. “I love you.”

Crowley whined. “I… There’s so much. I want to say it, angel, I do.”

“I know.”

“I’m s-scared.”

“There’s no need, dear. Don’t say anything. Be here with me.”

“What if it’s my only chance?”

While he dreaded another time where all of creation looked away, for such circumstances couldn’t bode well, Aziraphale didn’t want to live a life of endless waiting. There had to be a world ahead where he and Crowley could share their love without fear of reprisal.

He pursed his lips as he thought. They’d already spent several thousand years without their friendship arousing suspicion. Would they court disaster to push for more?

“I already know how you feel about me.” Aziraphale said, “You’re practically glowing with it, if you want the truth.”

But beneath the blossoms of Crowley’s love, wheels were churning. “I need time,” they whispered.

“We have today.”

“After this I mean. I need time to see how much anyone’s paying attention. To our movements. Chances are we’re both, you know, too low on the corporate ladder. Probably only need to worry about… Them.” Aziraphale pointed upward and the demon nodded. “And I can do bugger-all about that one.”

“Perhaps…” Aziraphale rubbed the golden ring on his hand for the first time in hours. “Perhaps this is what She wants.”

Crowley bristled, a sudden wreck of sharp angles on the straw-stuffed mattress. Their shoulders folded inward as any remaining happiness drained away. “Let’sss not theorize on what They may or may not want, yeah?” 

Aziraphale smoothed the long feathers on Crowley’s wings, which earned him a sigh. Pleased to see them relax so easily after his misstep, he said, “We’ll sort this out. The humans do. They find ways to express _certain feelings_ without actually saying them.”

Crowley considered. “Some token, maybe. Of affection?”

“Or a phrase with two meanings. One that tells you...” Aziraphale planted a chaste kiss atop Crowley’s flowing hair. “That I love you.”

The tiny demon squirmed with delight. “Keep it up and I might die after all.”

He smiled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

They huffed, indignant.

“I do love you so.”

Crowley threw their head back, wriggling and grinning.

“I’ll say it enough for both of us, shall I? And I’m so happy I can. What a blessing.” At the warning glare he received, Aziraphale revised. “What a… wonderful silver lining to this utterly tragic day.”

“Hmm, quite the romantic you are.”

“A bit of patience, if you could. I’m new at this.”

Crowley jumped, flapping their unsteady wings for lift, and landed in Aziraphale’s arms. They nuzzled against his chest and murmured, “You silly thing.”

That felt right, Aziraphale decided. Crowley, there and in his arms. Nothing had ever felt more right. He doubted anything ever would.

Through the day and into the afternoon, they talked of their future. One they would will into existence if they had to. They drank the wine and miracled in platters with everything they liked best. When Crowley’s thoughts dipped into melancholy, Aziraphale peppered the demon with words of adoration. Late in the day, they both felt the change in the city and they drank even more. But the gaze of the universe stayed away through the night.

They planned for patience, though their hearts couldn’t abide the cruelty of inaction. Answers were not going to find themselves and Aziraphale did so love a good puzzle.

For a future where he and Crowley could be open, where they need not hide their feelings behind hints and codes, he could endure. For a time and place where he could proudly say he was Crowley’s and the demon was his own in return, he would stand guard the long years and protect their hearts.

_Hurry, love. Wait for us._

For Crowley was worth waiting an eternity.

-END-

**Author's Note:**

> The opening lines are a play on First Corinthians 13:4-8, “Love is patient, love is kind”, which are often read at (Christian) weddings. I feel Death comes to us all like a shy lover.
> 
> Thank you to n0nb1narydemon for a conversation that led to the Ah-ha! moment, which helped me claw my way into something new I wanted to say for this era.
> 
> Thank you CaspianTheGeek for your continued enthusiasm for smol Crowley, without which who knows if I ever would have continued.
> 
> Title take from Queen's "My Fairy King".


End file.
